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The party had been nice, mum really tried to make it as enjoyable as possible for everyone. After all, how often does your daughter turn eighteen?
And the college bash, that also went well, rather to script but that’s how these things sometimes go.
So what now? ‘A’ levels done, just waiting for the results. Should be okay, I was able to study the subjects I wanted and they should be ideal for getting me into agricultural college.
However those are just the academic matters, things that seem so important to parents and teachers but nothing to do with what really matters: life, love, happiness and stuff like that.
Fortunately I loved farming and farm work, and as mum and dad owned their own farm I had plenty to occupy me until I knew what the future looked like.
So time to feed the pigs, milk the cows, bale the hay, shepherd the sheep and sow the seed. Well at least clean out the cowsheds, the pig pens and throw some seed to the chickens. Modern farming was quite mechanised and automated and although I knew how to do most things on a farm I only stepped in to deputise for mum and dad when I had to, like illness and vacations.
Wish I could say I was a pretty little thing in a cute frock and it was only a matter of time before Mr Right came and whisked me away to a new life in his castle. Reality is that I’m rather well built instead of being slim, the polite term seems to be pleasantly plump. I have a lovely smile and can get on with most people, so not unattractive, just unconventional.
Then there’s the other thing, that I’ll have to discuss with my parents sooner or later. Just haven’t got round to it yet. No, that’s not true. Neither is it true I haven’t had the courage to tell them. It’s just that I don’t want to hurt them.
Not at all into respecting the previous generation for the sake of it, I believe people need to earn respect. But mum and dad have always been good to me, never pushed me to do anything I don’t want, and treated me like an adult even when I was a kid.
Anyways time for the denim shorts, support bra (I’m very well endowed in the chest area), chequered blouse and trainers. Sounds rather corny but I’m a country gal born and bred and if there is one thing you need on a farm it’s practicality.
Spring seems to have come early this year and the warmth of the weather brings out the warmth in me. Sun soaks into my skin, feel my face glow. Okay it’s rather round and chubby just like the rest of me but plump girls can glow as well.
So chickens first. Cleaning the coops, the feeding area and generally tidying up their habitat. One of the first things to learn about a farm is keeping the place tidy. Not in a fastidious ‘spick and span’ way but maintaining the environment for the animals in a way that enables them to live and thrive as healthily as possible.
Getting rather hot now so glad I brought the large bottle of water, just stick in it one of the storage tanks and that keeps it cool. So chickens all neat and tidy and off to the pig pens now. Same again, mucking out the pens, raking out the old hay and bedding and replacing it with new, topping up feed and water.
Sweating quite freely, blouse comes off and I drag out the old hay to the tractor ready for composting. Mrs Foster walks by en route to have her daily chat with mum: ‘Hi Carol, pigs keeping you busy?’ The Fosters run the farm next door and are good family friends, also terrifically nice people, Mrs Foster especially, as she happens to be one of my fantasy figures, mature experienced woman an’ all that. She also happens to look remarkably like Pam Ayres.
‘They sure are Mrs Foster, a healthy pig produces no shortage of work for a farmgirl and these pigs are as healthy as they come.’ I see her glance at my boobs momentarily but make sure she doesn’t know I saw her, but push my chest out just that little bit and a teensie weensie flush of excitement flows through me.
‘Well I’m off to have a cuppa with your mum so I’ll see you later Carol.’ We say ‘bye’ and I watch her walk away as her very huggable bottom sways majestically from side to side.
One good morning’s work done and it’s time for lunch. Blouse back on, don’t want to embarrass my parents. Quick wash and look in the mirror and I’m glowing like a ripe peach in the sun. ‘Carol, you sure are gonna make some girl happy one day’ I think to myself, rather unmodestly. Well at least some girl who likes ’em curvy and rounded.
‘Just in time dear, it’s very hot so I thought I’d do salad today. Dig in everyone’. Mum always says that and it’s just the three of us. But it’s sort of reassuring and cozy and I’m definitely hungry after a morning’s work. There’s no shortage of food on a farm and a full table is something I’ve known since childhood. The salad almost grows out of the bowl, eggs mayonnaise looks like small boobs with yellow nipples floating in a sea of mayo and the sliced tomatos arranged together remind me of…well… Shit, I need to get laid soon or I’m gonna explode.
Everyone kağıthane escort has had their fill and the next hour spent digesting and chatting. Time to excuse myself and clean the cowsheds: ‘Already done sweetie, why don’t you relax this afternoon, remember the Applesfield Farmer’s Dance is tonight’ says dad. How could I forget? ‘So why don’t you take the afternoon off, you need to look your best if you’re to catch that special guy.’ I grin (grimmace) politely but appreciate the thought. Mum also refuses help with the washing up.
So it’s off through the meadows I stroll, toward the woods. Just love the trees and the grass and the flowers, feel at one with nature here, feel at home like I belong in the country. Rabbits scamper under cover as I pass, birds tweet in the branches and the sun heats everything to medium rare. Looking for my spot, my secret place only I and the grasshoppers know. A small round clearing among the ash and the sweet chestnut, the oak and the silver birch.
The soft moss is the perfect bed and I relax easily. Earphones in and I listen to Pink for a while but she’s too excited for my current mood. Switch to K D Lang and hear her sing of love’s yearning. Mind starts wandering, love and romance, kisses and cuddles, sex and…well…more sex.
Memories flow through thoughts like water through pebbles in a stream. Meandering round obstacles, trickling over rocks, splashing spray haphazardly without care for who or what gets wet. Finding myself attracted to other girls at school and hoping no one would see me looking, kissing Jenni Mack in the locker room when everyone else had gone, holding hands with Maria on holiday in Spain. Possibilities come and gone. What might have been, what could be, if only…
Too much, emotions too strong, feel the stirring within. I look at myself through the valley between my boobs, the slightly soft tummy and the full thighs between which I am already wet. Am I a freak? Getting turned on by my own body? Who cares. Undo button on shorts, zip glides down. Hand slides inside panties, legs move apart. Another fetish of mine, I keep myself smooth just to feel the soft smoothness of my lips which are so sensitive they quiver at the touch of my fingers.
After a few minutes of stroking my lips they are as swollen as possible and time for me to go deeper. I let out an audible little moan as my finger slides inside. I don’t go any further at first, just let it play around slowly. Then a little deeper and I touch my clit, which explodes and so do I. It’s a sensation a whole order of magnitude greater and my body melts in preparation. Another touch, the explosion expands, press harder and an earthquake starts.
Nothing more yet, just a constant light pressure on my clit while my other hand unbuttons my blouse and pushes up under my bra. Another shudder as my fingers find my nipple and the combination of nipple and clit produces another moan. I know they’re going to get louder, thank goodness there’s no one else around.
I usually also need some visual frame of reference when I masturbate and Mrs Foster pops into my mind’s eye. What if she didn’t just look at my boobs one day? What if she undid her blouse, removed her bra and I could see what I’d fantasised about for years. And then maybe she would lift up her skirt or let it fall to the ground and I could see her wide hips and gorgeous bottom, barely constrained by the tight white panties…
…that was it, the wave started. My fingers worked faster and my breathing increased to match. My boobs moved up and down and in and out and my fingers were soaking with the juice I was producing. The sensation was building and I knew all I had to do now was catch the top of the wave. Sometimes I miss it but this time I got it just right and my high pitched moan floated around the sunlit leafy glade as my climax filled me and carried me away to a place in some distant land where Mrs Foster’s hands replaced mine and with one final shriek the wave subsided and I landed softly on my bed of moss as the birds stopped singing and the insects ceased their twitter and the trees themselves applauded me…well that’s how it seemed anyways…
I lay still for a few minutes to return to reality. Another one of my fantasies involves someone finding me as I…but that’s a different story again…
So a slow stroll back to the ranch and I love the feeling of being soaking wet down there. Even after a climax I still experience the sensuality I feel within my body and the thoughts it creates. A natural high that never quite subsides, always waiting there to be rekindled. ‘Hi Mum’ I greet her and take the offered glass of ice cold water.
‘Nice walk dear?’ she asks and I talk for a few minutes about the meadows and what flowers are out. I don’t know if she can sense what I’ve been doing but she’s too polite to mention it and anyway mum is really down to earth and she would probably be disappointed if I wasn’t enjoying myself at every opportunity.
So levent escort it’s time for a shower, epilating on legs, armpits and bikini area (long since past the pain threshold but it does take some persevering). Then hair combing for at least an hour, mine is blonde / light brown and halfway down my back. I tie it back partially and hold it with a clasp, suitable for most occasions.
Tea time is the main meal of the day in the farmhouse and the three of us have good appetites. Conversation usually revolves around the business on the farm, guesses about the weather and comments on the state of the herds and the crops – we farm just about everything so can adapt to changing economic and seasonal trends.
‘Looking forward to the party tonight sweetie?’ asks mum.
‘Sure am, it’s the highlight of the year. Wouldn’t miss that for the world, don’t think any of us would’ I responded.
We all agreed and then came the moment I was dreading: ‘This might be when you meet a nice young man Carol, there’s plenty of young farmers on the lookout for a pretty girl ya’ know.’ I respond with my usual polite smile so the conversation can move on to something more comfortable. But this time it doesn’t, mum pursues the topic.
‘I think that nice lad Mark from Dovings farm is bound to be there tonight, you two got on really well when you were younger.’ Again the polite smile. ‘Or Brian from the Organic Collective, I’m sure I saw him looking at you when we went to that conference on renewable farming methods.’
There’s only so many times you can use the nice smile response and I was running out of options. Okay Carol, change the subject: ‘So what are you planning to do with the second barn Dad, do you still think a conversion…’
But mum was having none of it: ‘Don’t change the subject dear. You’re eighteen years old and never had a boyfriend, I know you’re conscientious and want to do well with your studies but you need to think of other things as well. All work and no play…’
Serious placating required…then dad spoke, he very rarely commented on areas like this but: ‘We just want you to be happy Carol, to have a full life and enjoy everything to the full.’ Ah, bless him.
I coughed, a give away which they knew as a sign I was hiding something: ‘Oh you are both wonderful, I really appreciate your concern and I love you for it but I’m just happy as I am at the moment. So what about the food for the party, are you doing that spicy kebab thing again mum…’ but the second attempt at subject redirection wasn’t going to work either.
‘You know what I’m doing for the party Carol, so why don’t you want to talk about…you know…boys? Is it that you are worried we might be shocked or offended by talking about relationships? I know we’re the previous generation and hence old fuddy duddies but the birds and the bees are still the same. We’ve had our moments too you know, your dad and I.’ They both smiled at each other, they are so sweet and I can’t seem to find a way of ending this conversation topic.
Okay, try another tack: ‘I just want to wait for the right person, you know. That special person, not just anyone but the one who’s right for me.’
I knew mum would understand this: ‘Oh sweetie, you are so romantic and very sensible. Not all girls are like that these days. So what type of boys do you like then?’
Oh shit, this was not the way I wanted it to go and I started to fumble: ‘I just don’t…it’s that I…they’re not…’ I ground to a halt.
Mum looked confused: ‘What is it dear, not what? Are you afraid of boys, has a boy ever hurt you?’ I assured her that wasn’t the case.
‘Then what is it? There’s something you’re not telling us? We’re not going to be upset with you and we’re not tryng to invade your privacy, we just want the best for you Carol. Please honey, you’re worrying me, what’s holding you back?’
Well I need to do it sometime or other: ‘I don’t like boys mum, I prefer girls.’
Silence. More silence. Blank expressions. Then frowns. I think they’re catching on.
Mum spoke first: ‘You mean you’re…a…’ she couldn’t finish her sentence or speak the word.
I did it for her: ‘Lesbian mum.’ This was the most difficult conversation I’d ever had, simply because I loved them and cared for them so much.
When she couldn’t handle something or didn’t know what to say mum would do something practical while her brain processed things. Table was cleared in silence and tea sat steaming in mugs. Surprisingly it was Dad who spoke first: ‘This wasn’t something we had even considered, you see it on the tele and read about it but I never thought that we would…what caused it, did we do something wrong?’
Extreme reassurance required. ‘No, not at all. You didn’t do anything wrong, either of you. You’re wonderful, the best parents a girl could wish for. It just happens, you know, biology.’
At last the practical questions, ones I could respond to objectively: ‘How long have you şişli escort felt like this?’ Always. ‘Are you sure?’ Positive. ‘Have you never liked boys at all?’ Never. And so it went on.
Time for them to talk about this between themselves. Difficult bit over, hadn’t planned for this but glad it’s done. ‘I need to do my makeup, why don’t you talk about it and I’ll be down in a while.’ I rushed upstairs, relieved to have a breathing space and focused on applying makeup, putting on my dress and generally making myself look as pretty as possible while also delaying the inevitable continuation of the uncomfortable conversation.
Returning to the dining roon I felt relieved as they were both smiling: ‘Sit down honey, we need to talk to you.’ So seats were taken and the pregnant pause lasted forever. Mum spoke for them both: ‘We don’t pretend to completely understand, but you are our daughter and we love you and will support you in whatever you do or whoever you do it with. If you prefer girls then any girlfriend you have will be as welcome in our house as a boyfriend would be.’
I cried with relief as I hugged them both, genuine hugs not feigned or reluctant but there was something missing, a light had gone out of mum’s eyes: ‘What is it mum, there’s something wrong still?’
She looked sad: ‘It’s just that, well you know, I would have liked to have grandchildren. But I suppose I can’t be selfish…’
For once I interupted her: ‘Oh no, it doesn’t mean that at all. Two women can have children, it’s quite common now. IVF and all that.’ I saw the light return in her eyes and another big hug was required.
She held me at arm’s length and looked at me with love and admiration in her face: ‘Go get yourself a girl then Carol, knock ’em dead sweetie!’ And dad simply nodded his agreement in the background. Oh I loved them so much for that.
Dad getting the car out, mum wondering if she had turned the oven off and unplugged the kettle and said goodbye to her plants (don’t ask). So I stood one last time in front of the mirror, a final check. Pretty floral dress, open toed shoes with toenails painted to match my fingernails, arms and legs nicely tanned, hair long and tied with a clasp at the back, makeup sufficient but not over applied. I blew myself a kiss, without being modest I think I’ll make the kind of girl who finds me attractive, very happy. Dad sounds the horn, time to party.
Well not exactly, this is the kind of event where everyone chips in. ‘Hi Wendy’ calls Evelyn Birchly who owns the farm on which the Applefield County Gala is being held this year. ‘Can you give me a hand with the tables, the men are still getting the hay bales from the fields.’
Glad of something to do really, better than standing around looking like a useless wallflower (that’s typical farm country attitude, difficult to do nothing when you’ve been active your whole life). So carrying and setting up tables, spreading table cloths, laying out plates and dishes full of the most tempting goodies, then the chairs and barrels of ale and cider… Basically I had no idea that my deliberately dainty and girly appearance was long gone and replaced with that of a buxom country lass whose dress had now more buttons undone than intended and an appearance of a healthy and glowing complexion with bright eyes which were an open invitation for…well it’s spring isn’t it?
‘Here you are dear, you deserve it’ said Evelyn as she pressed a glass of cold cider into my hand. ‘I think it looks quite splended don’t you? Couldn’t have done it without you Wendy, so just enjoy yourself now. Oh by the way, Rose is home from university and she’ll be riding in the display shortly. Don’t think you two have seen each other in quite a while.’ I smiled but was rather confused, why was she mentioning that to me?
So the festivities began, with the opening speech made by Evelyn and inviting all present to eat, drink and be merry, to which no one disagreed. Ale, wine and cider flowed freely and the food disappeared quicker than a mouse down a hole. Someone started the games, think I’ll give the apple bobbing a miss. Likewise the nettle eating, cheese rolling and dywle flonking (never understood that one either, but it’s good ole’ country tradition).
The serious stuff started when the horses came out and the riding demonstration began. A capable rider myself, I could not however claim to be anywhere near the proficiency of the display I was seeing. Without seeming to make any effort at all, each rider guided their mount through a series of manoeuvres by almost telepathic control. Country culture has its areas of excellence and skill and this was one of them…I stopped breathing for a moment. The horse woman nearest me pivoted her mount on a sixpence, reversed it and sat two yards away from me with a big grin on her face.
Was she gorgeous or was she gorgeous! The rider as well as the horse, that is. ‘Hello Carol, enjoying the show?’ she asked with a smile as warm and genuine as the sun and eyes that could dissolve my heart if I let them.
It took a few seconds before I recognised her as Rose, Evelyn’s daughter: ‘Hi Rose, I see you’re back from university. How are your studies?’ Evelyn was right, I hadn’t seen her for a few years but she was still recognisable and even more attractive than I remembered her.
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